In the long large wooden room, the mother and eldest girl pursued the housework of the morning tranquilly.

Turrif lay upon a bed in one corner.

The baby's cradle, a brown box on rockers, was close to the bed, and when the child stirred the father put out his hand and rocked it.

The child's head was quite covered with the clothes, so that Trenholme wondered how it could breathe.

He sat by the foot of the bed, and Turrif talked to him in his slow English.
"You are wise to go--a young man and genteel-man like you." "I know you think I was a fool to take the place, but a man might as well earn his bread-and-butter while he is looking round the country." "You have looked round at this bit of country for two months"-- with a shrug of the shoulders.